One of the Good Ones

by Maika Moulite

  He was right. I had completely forgotten what today being my birthday meant. The very reason that I was able to go to the rally without my parents’ permission in the first place was now why I could no longer speak to them.

  “Please,” I said weakly to the officer. My eyes burned from the tears I held back.

  The policeman reached forward, ignoring me, and wrapped his hand around the phone. I was still holding on and reflexively tightened my fingers. This was the second time in one day that a policeman was taking a phone from me. The second time that I was being silenced.

  “Mom!” I yelled into the phone, the tears that I had been trying to contain now racing down my face, each drop falling freely as I cried for my mother again and again. I heard her shouting back, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying over the sobs that racked my body.

  Another officer made his way to me. He was bigger than his colleague. I felt myself deflate, my chest caving. Each step he took was a pinprick in the balloon that was my resistance.

  “I’m sorry, Ma,” I said. And even as I let the phone fall from my hand, I knew my mom must have still been screaming, an anguished echo as she repeated my name.

  The second officer slammed the phone into the receiver before turning to me. I was sitting as calmly as I could in my seat, gulping back tears, trying my hardest not to move from the fear that coursed through my body as the first officer reinforced his grip on my shoulder.

  Within seconds, I was on the floor. The second policeman slammed me down as easily as a rag doll. My forehead made a sickening crack as it met concrete.

  “Stop resisting!” they shouted. Even though I lay as still as a body of water on a cold winter day, as death. I didn’t fight as they dug their knees into my back, as they pushed my head down, as they broke my spirit. All I could do was cry, the noise that erupted from my body an ancient sound, one of pain, loss, hopelessness.

  Finally, the handcuffs were on my wrists, my arms locked in place behind me. Tears continued to stream down my face, and my shoulders shook with silent sobs. Should I bother to tell them that I was afraid? That it was fear that had me holding on to the phone? That I was scared for my life? Certainly they knew. But did they even care?

  The officers dragged me past the first holding cell, parading me in front of the other people locked away in their confinement. A warning of what happens when you don’t immediately obey orders. We arrived in front of an empty cell, and as soon as the first officer opened the door, his partner removed the restraints from my hands and tossed me inside like discarded garbage.

  And then I was alone. Their job of putting me in my place complete. It took everything inside me to prevent the wail building at my core from bubbling up and spilling out like lava, magma destroying everything in its path. Instead, I became small. I was a wounded bird lying on the side of the road, not quite dead but wishing it were so after having its wings clipped.

  I lay on the floor a long while, shivering against the concrete, unable to muster the strength to lift myself onto the hard box of a bed. The world tilted beneath me as my vision swam in and out of focus.

  How many times had I bashed my head today? I needed to stay awake. But the more I tried to keep my eyes open, the dizzier I became... It wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for a second would it?

  When the smell of smoke reached my nostrils, I was at the precipice of alertness. A tightrope walker hovering between wakefulness and sleep. Was this ringing in my ears a sign of a concussion? No... It was an alarm, the blaring alert repeating its call to action. If I listened closely, I could just make out the sound of many people walking—no, running, their steps like beating drums, each stride reverberating in my head.

  What was going on? I tried to use my arms to lift my body from the jail floor but found that they were jelly. It was a sign...surely it would be all right for me to sleep for just a moment...to close my eyes for less than an instant and snuggle down into the sudden heat that was invading my bones from where I lay on the floor.

  Soon I was drifting, consciousness slipping from my grasp as the room dimmed around me. Peace was near, hovering coyly outside of my touch. I reached for it and shuddered when the muffled noise of shouts faded away into barely there whispers. At last, my arms opened wide, and I slid into the welcome embrace of rest.

  PART II

  “12 When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads.”

  —JOB 2:12

  NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION

  17

  HAPPI

  SATURDAY, JULY 28—

  3 MONTHS, 11 DAYS SINCE THE ARREST

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  Genny and I are standing beside her tricked-out car with our parents, listening quietly as they list their demands for this road trip.

  “You’ll call us at least twice a day. First thing in the morning and last thing before bed.”

  “We need a midday text in between these calls to make sure everything is okay.”

  “No speeding.”

  “No drinking and driving.”

  “If you get pulled over—”

  “Ma! I think we got this,” Genny says, interrupting our parents. At this rate, they’ll be rescinding their blessing before we even stick the key in the ignition. Or we’ll spend the two weeks of this trip nodding as they spout rules for the road instead of getting a move on. “You really don’t have to worry. We’ll be perfectly okay. We’ll call and text a lot if it makes you feel better, but we’re also going to update Kezi’s YouTube page as a tribute to her so her followers can get some closure too. I think she would’ve liked for us to do that.” Genny clears her throat, possibly trying to distract herself from the tears that now well in her eyes.

  “Yes. She would,” Dad says softly, pulling Genny into an embrace.

  Even in the seconds that are meant to be light, feelings of loss weigh heavily on our shoulders. It’s a thick blanket that we can’t muster the strength to throw off, suffocating one second and all too familiar the next. But just like that, the moment is gone. Genny pulls back from Dad’s arms to show him and Mom how to turn on alerts for new uploads to Kezi’s channel.

  As Genny assists our parents, I think about what happened after my conversation with Asia Coleman. I had done my best to collect myself and then tracked down Genny. I found her filling her plate with plain potato chips and mustard-covered hot dogs. The smile on my sister’s face when I told her that I now wanted to come along was almost comical.

  “I knew you’d come around,” Genny said as she drenched a chip in the spicy yellow condiment. “Why else do you think I brought that big-ass suitcase with me?”

  Turns out Genny knew me better than I knew myself. Or at the very least, she hoped that I would change my mind and had preemptively packed some of my clothes for this adventure when she stopped by our house to pick up the Green Book Kezi got from Ximena. That was also when Genny found the letters our sister had addressed to Mom and Dad when she had been upset about their lack of support over attending the rally. It was like Kezi led her to them. When I asked Genny what she would’ve done had I not come along, she waved away the question.

  “Yo, when are we heading out?” I ask her once Mom has finally gotten a grasp on how to leave a comment.

  “In just a little bit,” Genny answers, glancing distractedly toward the front entrance of the hotel.

  I start to demand to know what she’s waiting for, and then my mouth hangs open, because my answer is staring right back at me. Or rather, two answers. Derek Williams and Ximena Levinson emerge from the hotel with their suitcases in tow, the wheels rolling loudly across the gravel parking lot.

  The last time I saw either of them for longer than a minute was at Kezi’s funeral. It was so strange to observe them all dressed up in their Sunday finest to mourn the loss of m
y sister. I had felt like I was the one intruding on their grief, once I finally gave in to my mother and went over to thank them for coming. Ximena’s face was frozen in a permanent state of anguish, and when she hugged me, her sadness seeped into my bones, mingling with my own desperate melancholy. I couldn’t even look Derek’s way. Once upon an incredibly distant time ago, he would’ve been the person that I ran to, to regain some semblance of normalcy. But now all I had was Santiago, who only retreated further and further from me each time I attempted to talk about how I was feeling.

  It was easy to avoid seeing either of my sister’s best friends since that day. Everyone decided it was most suitable for me to stay home for the rest of the school year. I had been honest with my parents for once and told them that I would skip each and every class if they forced me out of the house before I was ready. All my teachers agreed to send my remaining assignments through email, and I ended the academic year barely passing. When Ximena and Derek stopped by the house to check on my mom, I mastered how to prevent all interaction with them. Because the sight of my sister’s companions poked at a wound in my soul that was nowhere near healed. At all times, the footage of Kezi’s arrest replayed over and over in my mind. It was part of me now, fused into my joints and sockets. Even the quickest glance at Ximena was a reminder that my sister was gone. And I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I frequently wondered what would’ve happened if Ximena hadn’t carried on the way she did that day, based on the footage I’d later seen on Kezi’s Instagram. If my sister would be...the thought feels too cruel for me to complete.

  Genny waves the duo over. They approach, each step bringing me closer to the realization that there’s no getting out of this trip now. But I can’t resist the urge to ask anyway. “Do I still have to go?”

  “Yes,” Genny says firmly.

  “Hmm. And why are they here?”

  “Ximena and D are coming with us.”

  D? I try not to let Genny’s use of Kezi’s nickname for my once-best friend get on my nerves. “And why did you fail to mention this?”

  “Because I thought you would just use it as another reason to back out.”

  The tone of exasperated annoyance that Genny usually takes with me worms its way into our conversation. I’m slightly relieved. It has been a while.

  “Well, you would’ve thought right, Genny. If I knew that you were going to have two other people with you, I wouldn’t have felt so bad about staying behind.”

  Our parents are suspiciously silent throughout this exchange.

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Did you all know about this too?”

  They glance wordlessly at each other, and I receive my answer.

  “Hey, Aunt Mimi and Uncle Malcolm,” Derek greets Mom and Dad as he rolls to a stop in front of us.

  “Hi, you two. How are you?” Mom says, giving Derek a kiss on the cheek and then one to Ximena.

  “We’re okay,” Ximena answers with a shy smile. She turns to me. “We’re very grateful to Happi for thinking of us. Genny mentioned that it was her idea to have the two of us come along on this road trip, and I just—”

  Ximena is a gale of emotions. She is looking at me with such gratitude, and it takes everything in me to not hiss at Genny. It’s one thing to spring them on me unannounced but a whole other to make it seem like I had suggested this. I could just as quickly end the charade and let Ximena and Derek know exactly what I think about them being here. But one peek at Derek’s face has me swallowing my words.

  “We mean it. Thank you for thinking of us, Happi,” Derek says. “We loved her too.”

  I let out a deep, slow exhale and incline my head in acquiescence. I can practically feel the tension sliding off of my parents and sister. I try not to let it land on my head.

  As Dad crams the surprisingly roomy trunk with the additional luggage, Derek and Ximena admire our Mustang’s decoration.

  “This has Kezi scribbled all the way over it,” Derek says as he knocks on a black power fist sticker.

  “And these tulips...” Ximena finds Genny’s eyes. Nods.

  “One weekend we were bored at my place and drew up our dream cars,” Genny explains. “I wanted a Tesla. Kez showed me this... I didn’t think about how tight it would be for four people when I rented it though.”

  “Or how bad for the environment,” Ximena adds.

  “This one, solitary car is the least of the world’s worries,” I say irritably.

  Genny rolls her eyes.

  Soon, we’re all buckled up. I’m sitting in the back seat with Derek and Ximena rides shotgun while Genny has the first shift at the wheel. All of our bags are carefully stowed now, but Genny has one up in the front with her. Kezi’s camera is in there, and Genny wants to keep it close.

  “All right. Be safe, kids... Young people,” my dad corrects himself as he taps the roof of the car.

  Genny shifts the car into Drive, and my mom waves a hand to stop her before she pulls off.

  “Last rule. Don’t hurt each other.”

  * * *

  The car is uncomfortably silent as we make our way to I-55 South, even with the radio murmuring in the background. You would think that we were complete strangers. But I suppose that is true in a sense. Derek and I haven’t spoken, like really spoken, in years; Ximena and I have nothing to talk about, and Genny...well. She’s Genny.

  The music continues softly in the background, and I stare out the window. This is going to be a long two weeks.

  “So...where are we headed on this road trip again?” Derek asks. He never could stand awkward silences.

  Genny replies almost too eagerly. “We’ll be stopping in six different states before we make it back to California. Ximena, would you mind reading from the first page of that booklet in the glove compartment?”

  Ximena does as she’s asked and pulls out a journal.

  “Listed here we have each of the states that we’ll be visiting on our trip,” Ximena says. “First up is Illinois, duh, then Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and then we’re back in California.”

  “Wow,” I say still peering out the window. “Places that have literally never been on my must-see list.”

  “Come on now. We’re going to be doing some cool stuff along the way. We’re stopping at an amusement park, a few museums, going camping!” Genny tries to convince me.

  “Yay. Fun,” I say under my breath.

  “Kezi was really looking forward to seeing the Grand Canyon,” Ximena says, not hearing my snarkiness. Or ignoring it. “I wanted to help her put the trip together, but she was really set on doing the whole thing herself. She’d been planning for ages! Even before I gave her the hard copy of the Green Book, she was using the versions the New York Public Library had scanned online. It won’t be the same experiencing all of this without her.”

  “It won’t be,” Genny says, giving Ximena a small smile. “But at least we can do this together in her memory.”

  Genny and Ximena continue chatting amongst themselves, swapping stories about Kezi like trading cards. That time she made kombucha explode out of a teacher’s nose. When she clapped back at the trolls on her YouTube page. How she could have you nursing your hurt feelings for an entire week just from an epic side-eye. Ximena laughs loudly at Genny’s jokes, clearly trying her hardest to come off as likeable to the only sister she’s deemed worthy enough to impress.

  Ximena loved Kezi. I see it in the way she beams from only the memory of her. And though nothing can compare to Kezi and Genny’s bond—they were two halves of a whole—there’s something about how Ximena speaks about Kezi that I can’t quite place my finger on. Something I hadn’t noticed before. It’s reinforced by the way Genny takes special care to comfort my sister’s friend.

  Derek clears his throat beside me. He’s obviously trying to get my attention, but I’m not having any of that. I pull my e
arphones out of my book bag and plug them into my phone. I crush the buds into my ears as if I’m jamming to music, but I’m wearing them to not be bothered. Just because I’m trapped in this car doesn’t mean I have to converse with him the entire time. And this way, I can listen to what anyone says in case they talk about me. I don’t even need Kezi’s ghost to tell me how cynical I’m being. I can’t help it.

  I unlock my phone to send Santiago a text and let him know that I’m going to be out of town for a while longer. If he cares.

  My phone buzzes five seconds later, and my hopes soar. Until I look down and see: Cool. Safe trip. I immediately start typing away, ready to give him a piece of my mind. That’s all he has to say to me? After everything I’ve been through? My fingers are flying across my screen, the wall of text growing larger and larger with each swipe. And then I notice Derek, tilted ever so slightly in his seat to see what I’ve written. I want to be angry at him for being nosy, but I can’t. If I saw someone writing a novel like that beside me, I’d cringe and sneak a few peeks too.

  I delete the entire message and place my phone facedown in my lap. My eyes start to flutter closed until I notice Derek doing a terrible job of faking a yawn as he leans back over to his side of the car. Are all guys losers or is it just the ones at my school?

  I remember the first time I discovered Santiago. My second drama club meeting at the beginning of sophomore year. He was overly confident. A big show-off who did everything in his power to keep the attention on himself at all times. I usually paid him no mind and did my best to not get lost in his hazel eyes. But as soon as he stepped on the stage, he was a flame drawing the audience in like fireflies. And I buzzed louder than the rest. We were paired off as co-leads to star in our school’s rendition of Aida, and I fell for him a little more each time we practiced our lines. Dominoes in a chain reaction had nothing on me. When he finally asked me to be his girlfriend, I was ecstatic. I wasn’t naive enough to think that he liked me as much as I liked him. But he’d mentioned more than once that I was his match. That we could be a power couple in the “acting world.” What a joke.